


hearth

by Borashore



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu cares lots about him ok, Established Relationship, Established relationship (i think....?), Germophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I mean, Knuckle kisses, M/M, Mysophobia, Sakusa has a small panic attack so look out for that, Soft Miya Atsumu, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, a boy finally gets to sleep which means i get to sleep too, hand holding, he blacks out briefly, this was written for a friend so.... enjoy? hahaha!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borashore/pseuds/Borashore
Summary: A hearth is peace. A hearth is comfort. A hearth is home.In which Sakusa has a bad night and Atsumu is the warmth that thaws out the cold hands of fear.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 136





	hearth

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Panic attack! Tread carefully hun buns!
> 
> I wrote this because a dear friend of mine asked for some nervous handholding/finger kisses and who was I to tell them no? So here ya'll go too!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated as always.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Lily
> 
> \---
> 
> alternate title: max needs some fluff and by God i was going to deliver

The quiet of the MBSY community dorm settles into Sakusa’s skin much deeper than he expected. 

It’s not like he assumed he’d get used to his new living establishment in a day (it’s not only unrealistic, but also ridiculous. No one can trust anything 100% right away, it’s dangerous and spells out trouble. Well, anyone except that kid, Hinata Shoyo), but the newness and… unknown of this space, shared with all 8 Black Jackals, pokes and prods at his mind much more than normal. He can’t stop thinking of the palpable gap between each dormant body, hearing everyone’s lulled breaths-- inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, snort, exhale, inhale-- their shifting around in their futons and the growing awareness that they’re all in _one room_ , and less than three feet from each other, and it's _hot_ , and they’re all _sweaty_ and the windows are _closed_ \-- 

Sakusa jumps up from his futon, gasping for breath. Eyes shut he tries to force air into his lungs; to think. Concentrate. About anything, anything at all-- that he’s okay, they all showered before bed, Sakusa himself showered twice before bed alone, they’re all a respectable distance away, the room was cleaned to the core before they even arrived at the building, it’s fine, he’s fine, he should be fine.

Bokuto snores loudly to his left and Tomas turns in his sleep. He scratches at his back and settles into his slumber once more. 

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._ Control is slowly slipping from his grasp. _Shuffle, shift, scratch, snore, turn, shuffle, inhale, exhale, drool, snore_ \--

Panic bursts in Sakusa’s chest as it constricts tight, squeezes, crushes, and he clutches at his shirt to alleviate it. It doesn't work. His heart only goes faster, faster, faster, _faster_ and it _can’t stop_ , God, it doesn't _stop_ , he needs an out-- he needs to get _out_ \--

He’s rushing out of the room like a madman, the rest of the men and their slumber be damned. He needs out, out, _out, out, out, out, OUT!_

Sakusa throws open the front door and slams it behind him. The thought that his hand could now be a hazard to his health cements front and center in his head and, fuck, he touched his face with that hand, why is it still touching his face, its over his mouth, his lips, he’s vulnerable, exposed, he’s not wearing a mask and now he’s been compromised, he’s infected, it's in his saliva, his bloodstream, wriggling under his skin, eating away at his flesh like a parasite and--

Immediately, the familiar surging in his throat latches tight and Sakusa knows. It had been seven years since he had last felt it, but it’s as firm and sure as if he had choked under the pressure the very day before.

He blacks out. 

Sakusa doesn’t really know how he ended up outside the building, sitting on the curb. 

Wet eyes slowly blink into focus, drinking in the dark of the night (or was it dawn?), their street, the shadows towering over next-door buildings, trees bordering their sidewalk, the dimly lit street lamp across from their dorm and their parked bus dormant 20 feet away. He blinks again. The air is crisp against his face, cutting deep down to his bones, but it doesn’t particularly affect the rest of his body. A glance down confirms he’s wearing a red bomber jacket zipped up to his chin. It also confirms that there, shielding the lower half of his face, is one of Sakusa’s spare quirurgic masks. 

A voice speaks up from beside him. “I found ya starin’ out into space in our hallway.” 

The fog clouding his mind easily dulls whatever shock or surprise the sudden appearance could’ve administered. Then again, he’s not really surprised it’s Atsumu by his side. “How did I end up out here?” 

Sakusa glances to his right and Atsumu is sitting with his chin on his knees, covered from head to toe to avoid the cold. There’s easily six feet between them. 

Atsumu looks back at him, mouth covered with a maroon scarf. “I led ya out.” He jerks his head behind him. “Ya made a ruckus when ya left, so I went to check on ya. Ya were standin’ outside the door like some kinda zombie--.” Sakusa thinks he should bite back with a retort, but, for the life of him, he can’t come up with one. “--Since I saw yer brain skipped town, I figured fresh air coulda done ya well to bring ya back home.” Atsumu sits back slightly and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. The accessory glimmers dimly in the artificial light of the street lamp. “Been almost ten minutes since.”

Feeling slowly starts to return to his fingers. _Warmth._

In a haste, Sakusa takes out his hands from inside his jacket’s pockets (when…? how…?) and sees mittens proudly beaming right back at him. His hands are covered. His toes, his cheeks, his nose, his ears-- they're all covered; protected from the outside and slowly but surely coming down back to Earth with him. 

The gesture warms Sakusa up the most. “Well, I am.”

“Am what?”

He gingerly curls his fingers into a feeble fist, divulging in the soft, comforting friction, and spares a grateful look to his right. “Back home.”

The crinkling of Atsumu’s eyes does the smiling for him. “Welcome back.”

At that, they resort to keeping quiet as Sakusa recollects himself. 

He looks around. This quiet, he notices, is different from the one inside the dorm. It’s calmer. Bearable. Maybe even soothing. Works wonders against his nerves, something a clutch to his chest or feeble attempts at concentration simply couldn’t do. For the first time that night, he feels safe.

It’s small, but Sakusa notices the twitch of Atsumu’s fingers over his bent knees. He recognizes the hesitation. 

Before he could say anything about it, Atsumu voices both their thoughts. “So, would…” He swallows thickly. “Would it be…?”

“I don’t know.” Sakusa answers honestly, because he really doesn’t. This hadn’t happened in such a long time, and a certain prickliness already made itself present at the mere idea of physical touch.

But this was Atsumu. It should be fine. _He_ should be fine.

_(But what if he wasn’t?)_

A frown. He hates how he can easily shut himself out of the world. Hates how a simple pebble could shatter all the hard work Sakusa had laid down for him to soar higher than his fears-- for him to live as so much more than his issues-- as easy as shattering glass. 

Sakusa studies the black wool coating his fingers; rubs them together. 

But, of course, he had to remember: Sakusa wasn’t the only one scared here. 

“Okay.” The tremble in his lips barely cracks over the weight his whisper holds, and it’s enough for Atsumu to close the distance between them. Their knees and arms flush together and there’s no reaction other than pure, unaltered relief. The revelation allows his body to sag without hesitation.

Atsumu brushes a thumb over Sakusa’s knuckle. “Can I?”

Sakusa responds by swiftly sliding the mitten off and presenting it to him bare. “Yeah.”

His hold is careful. Gentle. Soft. Easily indistinguishable from the hands capable of shooting volleyballs from one side of the court to the other with the accuracy of a sniper on a mission. Their fingers interlace; Atsumu loses all posture and melts against his side.

“Ya were shakin’ and cryin’ in yer spot all freaky lookin’.” Another brush of his thumb. “Was it the room? All of us all together?” He murmurs into his scarf.

Sakusa nods, gripping at his hand tightly. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Nah, don’t be.” Sakusa’s fingers suddenly thaw from the cold as Atsumu’s breath hovers over them. His eyes are closed as he presses a soft kiss on his knuckles. “M’glad I was up. Don’t know what woulda happened if I wasn’t.” Another kiss, this time on his ring finger. “Rather not think ‘bout that.”

“Worried about me, Miya?” Sakusa tries to joke, but it comes out like a breathless wish. 

“Any good setter looks out for his hitters.” One eye peeks open and a fox-like grin shines from under his maroon garments. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Sakusa rolls his eyes. He gets no more follow-up from this other than another press of Atsumu’s lips to the inside of his wrist. It settles there for three heart-stopping beats (his pulse counted them for him). Then there’s the brush against his skin as he speaks, a tremor in his voice.

“Ya scared me, Omi.”

It’s small. Sheepish. Feeble. Sakusa curls up into Atsumu’s chest and lets himself rest his head under his chin; Atsumu automatically wraps him up in a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s muffled against his coat, but he figures Atsumu hears anyway. 

He does. “Tell me whenever ya don’t feel comfortable next time, okay? We coulda talked it out and managed another room for ya or somethin’.”

Sakusa shakes his head. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to fight it out.”

“Yer… Yer phobia?”

“Yes.”

He feels the frown atop his head. “Ya don’t have ta accommodate for the others, Omi. They’re good people. They’ll understand.”

“It’s not for them, Atsumu.” Sakusa breathes in. Fertile soil, rugged bark, cherry blossoms... a sunny bonsai garden. Hyogo. “It’s for me. Trust me.”

A pause. Then, “Are ya sure?”

“Mm hm.” Lavender breeze, sunspots upon stone, freshwater rivers under wooden bridges. A house upon a valley. Hyogo. “I’m sure.”

One of Atsumu’s arms sneaks off his shoulders and slips between them, seeking out Sakusa’s own. All nerves gone, they hold on tight. 

“Okay.”

A vast valley drowned in sunlight. No closed doors in sight. Discomfort gone in the wind. Health becomes the least of his worries. Air fills his lungs to the brink of lifting him off the ground. Summer air cools his skin to perfection. A steady hand guides him further deep into the sunflower field, laughter suggesting mischief and something more. Something domestic and sure. A hearth. A person. A place to call home.

Hyogo.

At last, Sakusa Kiyoomi sleeps.


End file.
